Hogswatch Drabbles
by mirrorballsymphony
Summary: A series of drabbles about many of the Discworld characters at Hogswatch, which, of course, is the season to be jolly. And all other things ending with 'olly'.
1. Sybil Ramkin and Sam Vimes

Vimes bounded through the toy shop.

'Would he like this?' he said, waving the toy in front of Sybil's nose. It was a Very Realistic Castle With Real Murder Holes And Hot Tar.

Sybil sighed. 'No, he would not.'

'How about this?' Vimes held up a Gravel Trebuchet, which could fling stones for up to a hundred yards.

'No,' Sybil replied firmly. 'No weapons.'

'This isn't a weapon. It's made of wood and elastic bands.'

Sybil turned the box over. 'Then it's not worth thirty dollars.'

'But he'd love it!'

Sybil looked at Sam's excited face and flushed cheeks, and reminded herself that he'd never really had Hogswatch when he was a child. She, however, had been suffocated with toys, stuffed with bacon and pudding, and generally surrounded by all things Hogswatch until she was sick of the whole concept.

She looked back up at Sam, who was hopefully holding up a very sword like Not A Sword At All, age 3+.

'No,' she repeated.

'But it's on his list.'

Sybil read Young Sam's shaky scribble, which said 'A sord lyk Daddys', and sighed.

She had thought many times that a childhood in the Watch wasn't good for their child.

'Why don't you get him something to do with the Watch which doesn't involve weaponry?' she tried to compromise.

Vimes looked perplexed. 'But he had the Watch. He doesn't have the weapons.'

'A sword is not appropriate for a five year old.'

'When I was five I had to use edged weapons.'

'A sword is not an appropriate present for a five year old who doesn't live in the Shades.'

Sybil glanced down the sheet of paper until she hesitated when she saw the name 'Detritus' on Sam's list.

'He wants Detritus as a present?'

Vimes shuffled awkwardly. 'Apparently he thinks he'd be good at teaching Rust's boy a lesson.'

'But why does he think he can buy a troll?'

'I think that's Rust Junior's input again.'

Sybil went dead still for a moment. 'Buy him the sword.'

'What?'

She gestured to the box he was carrying. 'Get him the sword.'

'I can get one from the Watch House for free.'

'But at least Ronnie won't be able to say our boy stabbed him with a sword. Look,' she pointed at the label, 'it's not a sword. It tells you.'

Vimes was still trying to comprehend the idea that he could buy an edged weapon for his son. This was the stuff of dreams.

'How much is it?' Sybil asked, rifling through her purse.

'I'll get it.'

'No,' said Sybil, smiling wickedly. 'I want it to be my money stabbing Rust's kid.'

'But I want to stab-'

'Sam, when you find the son of someone who teased you throughout your childhood you are more than welcome to buy Sam a crossbow. But until then, I'm buying the sword.'

'Fine, fine. I'll have to find a lot of crossbows.'

Sybil wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring at the Hogfather's grotto, where a...person was sitting on the Hogfather's lap, rather uncomfortably.

She nudged Vimes. 'Is that Nobby?'

It was Vimes's turn to stare at the familiar figure sitting on the even more familiar figure's lap.

The skeletal face grinned, and raised his hand.

Vimes shook himself, pretending that he hadn't seen. 'Let's go and pay,' he told Sybil.


	2. Granny Weatherwax

Granny Weatherwax

A thousand sausages, a hundred pork chops, several jars of pig knuckles and a whole, alive pig were lying in the kitchen.

Esme Weatherwax walked in. The pig grunted, then returned to chewing the rag rug. Esme didn't really mind, it was full of holes anyway.

She sighed as she looked at the table. Hogswatch was all well and good, but where was she supposed to store a thousand sausages?

Awkwardly, she shouldered a bag of them and walked out of the back door. She would store them in the shed for now, the goat wouldn't mind, he'd have to deal with the pig as well though. As she levered the bag up onto a shelf she caught it watching her.

'What?' she snapped. It looked away.

Grumpily, she returned to the house, stamping the snow off her shoes as she walked through the door. As she lifted up another two bags of sausages she could hear the clock rebuking her.

No one should be alone on Hogswatch, her mother had said to her two daughters. No one should have to be alone, at least.

At that point, Esme had figured she would be alone. True, she had known Mustrum for a couple of months, but she never thought it would last. And Lily, Lily could never hold anyone down for more than a week. She was like Gytha in that respect.

Talking about Gytha...

'Yoo hoo!' Nanny Ogg called through the door. 'Blimey, you got more'n me.'

'Thanks. That's what I was aimin' for.'

'You wants to come round? We've got dinner.'

Esme sighed dramatically, but could see Gytha wasn't buying it. 'Alright. If you insist.'

Gytha grinned, revealing her one tooth. 'Can I nick a jar of them pig knuckles? I ain't got none.'

'Sure. I don't like them anyway.'

'I know. Posh nob you are.'

'Oi.'

Esme followed Gytha out of the door. She looked back once at the empty, silent house.

She didn't need to be in there, though.


	3. Nobby Nobbs

**Nobby Nobbs**

Nobby sat in the corner of Pseudopolis Yard's canteen with a pint of Winkles, watching the remainder of the Watch's Hogswatch do.

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. All those who had families had left, those who were left were too loyal, alone, or just wanted the free beer.

Nobby watched Vimes as he glared at the beer barrels and his glass of lemonade. Sybil had wanted him to stay with her and Sam, but had understood the importance of the Watch's do. For the one thing, they had to fit fifty watchmen in the canteen.

There were less than ten people here now. Colon had been dragged away by an angry Mrs Colon, who wanted to see her husband for one night of the year. Visit was arguing with Dorfl, who was in turn arguing with Igor about the meaning of life. Angua and Carrot were sitting in the corner, Angua asleep on his shoulder. Neither of them had noticed the mistletoe that he had strung up above the table - Nobby liked a bit of festive cheer as much as the next man.

It sucked, being alone at Hogswatch. Though, mind you, he had begged to be alone at Hogswatch when he was a kid. It was the only time that Sconner ever came home, and Nobby would quake for the whole day until he stumbled out of the door, drunk as a monkey, only to return when he needed the money or had sobered up. More often than not it was the former.

But his mum had managed, somehow. It was amazing the things she could do with a bit of cheese and half a sausage. As a kid, Nobby hadn't realised how tough it must have been, bringing up six kids in one room you couldn't swing a cat in, feeding them from the meagre wages of the candle factory she worked in. By the age of ten, Nobby and his siblings had learnt to fend for themselves; they rarely went back.

After a while, Nobby realised that he was alone in the canteen apart from Carrot and Angua. Carrot was trying to lift her up without waking her up.

'Is she alright?' Nobby asked.

'I think so,' Carrot whispered. 'Just a bit too much to drink.'

'That's not like her.'

'Ah, well, it's Hogswatch.' Carrot managed to pick Angua up and rested her head against his shoulder. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Nobby.'

'See ya, Carrot. Happy Hogswatch.'

Nobby drained his pint and took it over to the sink to rinse it out. While he was there, he felt it charitable to do the rest of the washing up.

When he was done, he looked around the room and smiled.

Overall, it could be a lot worse.


	4. Moist von Lipwig

**Moist von Lipwig**

**This is the first time I've ever written anything involving Moist, so constructive criticism would be valued :)**

Moist and Adora sat awkwardly at the tiny table in the Dearheart's house with Adora's mother and sister. Adora's sister, Angel, was glaring at him.

Adora poked him in the stomach. 'Speak, for gods' sakes.'

Moist cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'It's a lovely dinner, Mrs Dearheart.'

Bless her, the woman smiled at him. 'Thank you. Moist, was it?'

Angel sniggered.

'Yes,' Moist replied calmly. 'It's quite a common name in Uberwald.'

'Are you sure?' Angel asked.

'I do come from there.'

'I thought the accent was a little odd,' Mrs Dearheart said cheerfully. 'A distinct lack of double-yous.'

Moist nodded, then looked pointedly at Adora. She glared back, and stamped on his foot. Hard. As he winced, Mrs Dearheart asked the question he'd been dreading.

'Where do you work, dear?'

Of course, little old ladies didn't get out much. Even if Mrs Dearheart wasn't much past forty you could tell that she had been mentally old since the day she was born.

'At the bank,' he replied.

'No, you can't get any free money, Angie,' Adora snapped. 'That's for employees only.'

Moist kicked her.

'That's nice, dear. Though you don't look much like a clerk.'

'Really?' Moist asked, intrigued. 'What do I look like?'

'The owner of a bank?' Angel asked coolly.

'He doesn't own it, he just runs it.'

'Same difference.'

'Do you, dear?' Mrs Dearheart didn't get an answer, so carried on. 'I do like your notes.'

'Right...' Moist paused. 'Um, thanks.'

'Look, I've got some right here,' she said, putting a hand down her top.

Adora stood up abruptly. 'And I think with that it's time to go.'

'Oh, are you sure?' Mrs Dearheart said sadly.

'Of course she is,' Angel muttered.

'I'll help you get cleared up, then Moist must get back to the bank.' Adora was speaking too quickly.

'Oh, no, dear. If it's urgent you must go.'

Moist became aware that she was watching him and coughed. 'Um. Yes. Very urgent.'

'Oh, well, hopefully we'll see you soon. Moist, was it?'

'Yes.'

'I bet you won't.' Mrs Dearheart evidently didn't hear the slap Adora gave her sister.

'Well, it's been lovely, dear.' Mrs Dearheart stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, and Adora coughed pointedly.

'Right, well, must be off. See you, Angel.' _More like devil_, he thought.

Angel nodded. Adora dragged Moist out of the door and slammed it behind her.

'What was all that about?'

'Come on,' Adora growled. 'Angel'll be listening.'

Once they had reached the end of the street Adora turned to him. 'Sorry about that,' she said brightly.

'What's going on?'

'Oh, I wanted to leave before the betting started. And I needed a smoke.' She lit one of her long black cigarettes and seemed to relax.

'Betting?'

'Oh, if Angie ever heard rumours of who I was going out with her and mum would place bets on how long it would last.'

'Oh.'

'Trouble is, they were mostly right.'

'And what did they bet for us?'

Adora raised her eyebrows. 'Bless you. You think I told people?'

Moist opened his mouth, then shut it.

'Oh, stop that,' Adora grumbled. 'People would have been flocking to give you advice. All of it wrong.'

'And what advice would you give me?' he teased.

'Don't get on my bad side.'

'Fair enough. And have I managed to stay out of it?'

Adora looked at him. 'Just about,' she said grouchily. 'Long may it last.'

'Amen to that.'

He bent his arm and she hooked hers around it. They carried on walking down the street, outlined in the moonlight.


	5. The Librarian

**The Librarian**

The Librarian hung up his stocking above the fireplace, then huddled back into his nest of blankets. The fire was never, ever lit. The books were too precious, and who knew what sort of moths you could attract from the unexplored skies of l-space.

He loved Hogswatch. He hadn't been that old when he was transformed into an orang-utan, and he had been quite a naive man anyway who still hung up his stocking on the last day of the year. It was the same stocking, only now the gifts he received were slightly different.

He rummaged around the blankets and found his spare banana. In the silence of the deserted library, he munched it, and carefully placed the banana in the rubbish bin. Captain Carrot had told him that littering was a crime and could have all sorts of disastrous consequences*.

As he wrapped himself back up, he caught sight of the worst sight in the world.

A space where a book should be.

He felt a coldness on the back of his neck, and turned round slowly.

SORRY ABOUT THAT, Death said, turning the page with a bony finger. HE'S ON SICK LEAVE.

*Most involving comedy sketches or tiny go-karts driven by plumbers.


	6. Quoth and the Death of Rats

**Quoth and the Death of Rats **

**Inspiration came from Elizabeth Bower, so thank you :) Enjoy.**

'Another pickled walnut?' Igor asked, grinning at the raven.

Quoth spat out whatever it was that he was eating - everything looked slightly eyeball shaped to him - and tuned to glare at Igor. 'What?'

SNH, SNH, SNH, the Death of Rats chuckled.

Quoth turned on him. 'And you can just shut up, alright! Why didn't you tell me they were walnuts?'

SQUEAK.

'Oh, it's alright for you, isn't it? To me, there's a difference between walnuts and eyeballs.'

SQUEAK.

'They were five small ones!'

Igor was bored, and didn't really know why he'd stopped Quoth eating the walnuts. It was funny just watching his tiny little brain think that there was something wrong with what he was tasting, but his stomach was stronger every time.

They were his only customers. Usually, come Hogswatch, there were a couple of people* drowning their forgiveness in cheap beer in the dingy corners of Biers. But this year, all he got was the bloody raven and that bloody rat.

*Using the term loosely. Biers didn't usually cater to humans, at least not those who weren't 103 and on the funny side of forgetfulness.

Igor snapped back into focus as he heard the lid of the pickle jar being levered off with a beak. 'Oi! You've messed in the pickles again!'

Quoth paused half way through a pickled egg. 'Cor, these don't half look like eyeballs.'

SNH, SNH, SNH.

'I would have thought that you could tell by the flavour,' Igor commented.

Quoth looked slightly sheepish. 'Well, you know…'

'You have eaten an eyeball before, haven't you?'

'Well, not…I mean…not really…'

SQUEAK?

'Yes, I know you've either eaten one or you haven't. But I've never really had the opportunity. There aren't many eyeballs in the city.'

'This is _Ankh-Morpork_.'

SQUEAK!

'I would know a war if I saw one!'

Igor sighed and started rinsing out the pickles.

They never even paid, either.


	7. Gaspode

Gaspode jumped straight out of the window, clawing at the collar around his neck.

'Thank gods I'm outa there,' he muttered, glaring up at the door. It read:

**The LeAK aygANsct CruLe T To DoGs.**

Underneath there was a crude drawing of a grinning dog with a bone in its mouth. Gaspode shuddered at how low his species had been brought.

It was all the paper's fault, he decided. They had posted some stupid advertisement from the LeAK saying that the public had some sort of duty towards homeless dogs, and that any dog that they saw wandering around looking sorry for themselves should be taken to the LeAK's headquarters in Morphic Street.

Gaspode had snarled when he saw the bit about looking sorry for themselves. Of course the dogs looked sorry for themselves, it was a way of keeping business coming in. No one would donate a sausage to a dog that looked _happy_.

But everyone felt more charitable around Hogswatch, even the citizens of Ankh-Morpork. Someone had come up behind Gaspode and put him in a bag and taken him to that godawful place. So many dogs trapped behind bars, it was like they were in prison. Gaspode had been inside the Tanty before* and it didn't look half as bad as what the inside of the Sanctuary did.

The people in the paper, that William and his girl with the sweetening name, they meant well, but they didn't know what it was like being a dog. You had to be tough, out there in the rough, tough streets of the city; not being smelt around the corners of the buildings did nothing for his street cred.

The Watch were going to here about this, he decided. It was cruelty to dogs, keepin' 'em prisoner like that.

But first, he was going to found a decent sausage. The ones in there were rubbish.

*Not as a criminal, though. Gaspode believed himself to be a Good Dog, although this is debatable. Anyway, he only ever went in to steal the leftover chicken.


	8. Susan Sto Helit and Death

Death/Susan Sto Helit

There was the awkward scrape of cutlery on plates that accompanies every formal family occasion.

It was unusual for the crockery to have an intricate pattern of skulls on it, or for the knives to have a distinctly...scythy shape. It made it difficult to cut the deep-fried turkey.

ALBERT MADE THE DINNER, Death said cautiously.

Susan, always polite, smiled wanly at Albert, who glared back.

That was another thing. It probably wasn't usual for the family (for want of a better word) to share the table with a...man, a raven and a skeletal rat.

And she hadn't even started on the Hogswatch decorations.

She slowly became aware that Death was watching her closely. It was an unnerving feeling, like the odd feeling on the back of your neck which you swear is someone watching you, but you turn round and they're not there.

He placed his cutlery politely down on the plate.

HOW IS THE BOY? he asked awkwardly.

Susan cleared her throat. 'He's fine,' she said brusquely.

I NOTICE YOU DIDN'T BRING HIM HERE, Death said in an accusatory tone.

'Well, you know how it is. Managing time, and all that.'

YET I'M STILL HERE, he replied pointedly.

'His mother wanted him to come over for Hogswatch,' Susan attempted.

Death knew better than to argue with a mother's word, especially one that was the anthropomorpic personification of Time. I SEE.

'Do you?' Quoth asked.

EEK.

THANK YOU, Death replied tetchily. I'M SORRY, SUSAN, BUT IT'S MY NATURE TO WORRY ABOUT YOU.

'I've noticed.'

Albert started to pick up the plates, noticing with disgust how Susan hadn't touched the meat.

'I'll just go and-'

'There are no eyeballs in the kitchen, Quoth.'

'Never said there was,' Quoth replied, but flew off anyway, Rat following him.

TEA? Death asked.

'I'm fine for now.'

ARE YOU SURE? I HAVE YOUR MUG. YOU LEFT IT HERE LAST TIME.

Susan thought of the state of Albert's kitchen, with a layer of grease that could be used in archaeological digs. 'You can keep it.'

Death settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers. THERE'S SOMETHING YOU'RE NOT TELLING ME, he informed her.

'I don't think there is.'

I AM SURE.

'Have you been sending those two to follow me again?'

Quoth and the Grim Squeaker had returned and perched on Death's chair. 'It was an education,' Quoth told her.

'You-'

'Relax, girl, we stopped watching when he took his top off.'

'Ye gods,' Susan said wearily. Though, as she remembered, that was when she had started watching.

Death was glaring at the two of them. YOU NEVER TOLD ME THAT.

'Well, there's some things that family should know.'

'Look, can you stop following me?' Susan said angrily. 'It's my life.'

I TAKE A PARENTAL INTEREST.

'Yeah, well, you're Death. The two images don't fit well together.'

I ATTEMPT TO BRIDGE THE GAP.

'It doesn't work! There's something...odd about being followed by Death's cronies.'

'I don't like that name,' Quoth said, annoyed.

SQUEAK. EEK.

'And there's some things you don't need to see!'

'You're our little kid,' Quoth explained. 'We'll look after you.'

'Well, don't you think I'm a bit old for that?'

'Dunno. I've never been much at home with human ages. And everything's young compared to him.'

Death waved amicably.

Susan slumped down on the chair and sighed. It was just another Hogswatch.

**Does anyone else see Quoth and the Death of Rats as Timon and Pumbaa from the Lion King? Maybe it's just me. **

**Reviews would be great :)**


	9. Pepe and Madame Sharn

**If Pterry includes these two characters in more books, I will name my first born child Pterry. With the P. That's how epic they are. **

**Please review, it makes me happy :)**

Madame Sharn lay on the silken sheets of the massive bed and ran the coins through her fingers.

'We ought to have a Hogswatch sale every day.'

Pepe sighed. 'Yes, dear, but then it wouldn't really be a sale as such.'

'But it makes us so much money!'

'Yes, but then we would end up losing money because all our products would be on sale every day.'

Madame Sharn frowned at him. 'Maybe we should make the micromail cheaper.'

'But then we wouldn't make a profit.'

'We made a profit today.'

Pepe berated himself for even getting into this conversation. 'But today was special. That's why they all came.'

Madame was stacking up the coins into little piles, and glaring at them as they fell over. Pepe could see a lustful look in her eyes.

He clicked his fingers in front of her face and she glared at him. 'I'm fine, I'm fine.'

'I know you and money. It's like you and gold.'

Madame's eyes glazed over again. 'Oi!' Pepe shouted.

Absentmindedly, Madame pushed a pile over with her little finger. 'Do relax, Pepe.'

'I don't want you getting obsessed.'

Madame waved her arms and gestured to the rest of the room. 'Money can buy you opulence, respect, information. I don't think you know the real value of it.'

Pepe knew the value of money. Money could make more money, in the same way that they had turned really fine chainmail into gold. He remembered the rumour - dwarfs could turn lead into gold - and remembered how he had laughed as he worked it out. Then he had thought about it.

He looked at Madame, still staring at the piles of coins in front of her. Hogswatch had been kind to her this year.

Next year, who knew? Maybe they would become generic, maybe others would discover the power of micromail.

But this year, let them enjoy the money. It couldn't do them any harm.


End file.
